


Yes, Minister

by HannahPelham, lesbianr0gertayl0r



Category: Actor RPF, American (US) Actor RPF, Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Queen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Politics AU maybe 1 person asked for idk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2019-11-08 22:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17989670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahPelham/pseuds/HannahPelham, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbianr0gertayl0r/pseuds/lesbianr0gertayl0r
Summary: New Member of Parliament Kick Shawcross starts working at the Foreign Office, and meets Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs, Gwilym Lee. This is their story.





	1. Chapter 1

Miss Kathleen ‘Kick’ Shawcross, MP for Bethnal Green and Bow walked into the Foreign Office. She’d been appointed a Junior Minister at the Department for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs in the latest Cabinet reshuffle. She was a newly-elected Member of Parliament, and considered herself very lucky to have been appointed a Minister so early in her political career. The Labour party had won in a huge landslide once again in the general election and Kick was one of a new generation of Labour MPs doing their bit to govern the country. 

 

She flashed her security pass and made her way up to her office. As expected, it was the size of a broom cupboard; charming and efficient, but ultimately a very small room. Unexpectedly, it had a connecting door with the Secretary of State’s office. 

 

The Foreign Secretary.

 

The Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs, generally considered one of the most handsome men in Westminster, was to be her boss. Before Kick could muse about him any more, the man in question walked through the door. 

 

“Miss Shawcross, welcome to the Foreign Office” he said, sticking his hand out for her to shake. 

 

“Thank you Minister, and please call me Kick” she replied, shaking his hand. 

 

“Kick?” he asked.

 

“It’s a long story from my days at Bristol University involving the Chief Whip. I'm sure you'll get to hear the tale at some point, Mr Lee”

 

“Gwilym, please”

 

As if on cue, the Labour Party’s Chief Whip, Ben Hardy, MP for Stretford and Urmston walked into the room. 

 

“I would introduce you but apparently you already know each other” Gwilym joked as Ben and Kick embraced. 

 

“Ben, why are you here?” Kick asked as her friend shook Gwilym’s hand. 

 

“Had to see you on your first day, didn’t I? I see you’ve met our esteemed Foreign Secretary and Member of Parliament for Holborn and St Pancras, the Right Honourable Gwilym Lee MP” Ben replied, leaning on the edge of Kick’s desk. 

 

“I have, and I like him more than I like you already” she said, smirking in Gwilym’s direction. He smirked back as he left her office to continue working. Kick’s eyes stayed on the door for a few seconds after it closed. 

 

“So that’s what your type is then?” Ben joked. Kick just glared at him. 

 

“Ben, don’t you have work to do? Someone to go and threaten the job security of or something?” She asked, logging on to the computer in front of her as some kind of hint. 

 

“That can all wait, I just wanted to come and see an old friend and make sure she's all settled on her first day,” he replied in a somewhat cocky manner. Kick shot him a look, reiterating her earlier hint. Thankfully this time, he took it and left her office with a wave. As the door clicked closed, Kick fell back in her chair. She sighed heavily, before there was yet another knock on the door. 

 

“Come in!” Kick called, and the door opened, revealing a young blonde woman.

 

“You must be Kick” She said as she walked over, depositing some files on the desk. 

 

“Kick Shawcross. You are?”

 

“Lucy Boynton, the Minister’s secretary,” the young woman said, smiling brightly. She went to leave, but turned around as she reached the door. 

 

“Gwilym’s single, just so you know” she said, closing the door behind her. Kick thought, and decided that she didn’t think Lucy was the type to say something like that maliciously. If Gwilym really was single, well, that could cause all sorts of problems. 

 

Kick’s first week as a Foreign Office Minister was exhausting. Meeting after meeting and Parliamentary debates. She managed to spend an afternoon in her constituency, and squeezed in a lunch with Lucy for ‘girly bonding time’ as she put it.

 

Kick was starting to really like Lucy, she anticipated them becoming close over their time together in the Foreign Office. In a male-dominated environment, they recognized in each other a need for female support and friendship. They’d found space in Kick’s increasingly busy diary for a wine-fuelled movie night one weekend to blow off steam after an especially busy week. For the most part, neither of them were paying attention to the film on Kick's TV. Instead they sat there talking, everything from music to family, Lucy's activism to Kick's hopes for the future… and about a certain Mr. Lee.

 

Not only had there been a general election and a Cabinet reshuffle, a new American Ambassador was joining the Embassy in London, creating a lot of work for the Foreign Office, and Kick. She sat in her office responding to various emails in relation to the new Ambassador's arrival, there was a somewhat intense conversation happening in the adjoining room, it intrigued her. 

 

Collecting a stack of files as an excuse to walk into Gwil's office, Kick opened the door that connected the two offices.

 

“She's still bloody out there, chained to the Churchill statue of all places” Gwilym complained, pacing the room and running a hand through his hair.

 

“I know that, it's about the fourth time you've said it in the past half hour” Lucy replied, not looking up from the file she was reading.

 

“I just don't want her there when he arrives, especially as the refugee crisis seems to be her issue of the moment” Gwilym sits down at his desk, acknowledging Kick with a polite nod, she places her stack of files on his desk.

 

“I don't mean to butt in, Gwilym, but who exactly are you two talking about?” Kick asks cautiously. The Foreign Secretary sighed and lent back in his chair slightly

 

“A certain Miss. Elsbeth Stewart,” Gwil seathed, causing Lucy to look to Kick and roll her eyes slightly, “since the reshuffle, she has very kindly selected me as her new target. Every little thing I do that woman seems to have a problem with”

 

Gwilym stood up again, taking another lap of the room.

 

“Why did it have to be today of all fucking days?” Gwil groaned

 

“She's a smart girl, she knows you have to make a first impression, I'm pretty sure she didn't pick today by accident” Lucy said back to him,

 

“Lucy, can't you say something to her? You're friends with her for some insane reason” 

 

“Gwil, if she knows you have that big of a problem with it's going to turn her 24 hour hunger strike into a 48 hour one” Lucy placed the file she was reading on the desk, “I know Elsie, if she knew it would piss you off, she would starve herself half to death”

 

“That doesn’t solve the problem of her being here when the Ambassador turns up, though” Kick commented as she swiped the file from in front of Lucy and began reading it herself. 

 

“Yes, thank you Kick, that was very helpful” Gwilym groaned, resting his head in his hands. Before anybody could say anything remotely useful, a Parliamentary Aid poked his head through the door. 

 

“Minister? The Ambassador is about 5 minutes away” Gwil sighed and winced slightly.

 

“Great” he muttered sarcastically, “Thank you for letting me know, I’ll be just a moment” he said, nodding to the aid to dismiss him from the room.

 

“It’ll be fine Gwilym” Kick said quietly as she walked past his desk on the way back to her office. He grimaced at her and nodded in response. 

 

Gwilym walked down the stairs from his office to the entrance hall of the Foreign Office, and took a deep breath as the new Ambassador walked in. 

 

The new Ambassador, Staff Sergeant Joseph Francis Mazzello III was something of a surprise. A young, womanising, ex-marine billionaire socialite with little prior political experience. The Americans obviously thought he was the right man for the job, so there he was. 

 

“Ambassador” Gwilym said as he shook the man’s hand. 

 

“Please, call me Joe”

 

“Then call me Gwilym”

 

“Great to finally meet you, Gwilym” He was peppy and obviously very green, he had a strange confidence and charm about him which was very refreshing to Gwilym as he had grown used being surrounded by the politicians and and diplomats of generations past. Gwilym thought he could quite easily grow to like the young man in front of him, a refreshing change from the last Ambassador. 

 

They made their way up to Gwilym’s office, eager to discuss trade and relations between their two countries, when they almost collided with Kick. 

 

“Kick, this is the new US Ambassador, Joe Mazzello.” Gwilym said as Kick and Joe shook hands. 

 

“Joe, this is Kathleen Shawcross MP, one of our junior ministers,” He explained, smiling brightly at Kick.

 

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Shawcross.” he said, shaking her hand.

 

“Pleasure’s all mine, Ambassador Mazzello.” she said back

 

“Please, just Joe. No need for formalities, I imagine we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” Kick blushed slightly, the American’s charm was lethal. Gwilym raised an eyebrow and frowned slightly over the Ambassador’s mildly flirtatious comment, but quickly pushed those thoughts aside based on the stories of Joe’s womanising nature, they were aside but not gone.

 

The second they entered Gwilym’s office, Joe made a beeline for the window. 

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of looking at London,” he mused as he surveyed the scene, attention grabbed by the young woman chained to the Winston Churchill statue in Parliament Square, a poster board with “Lee wants Syrian children to starve to death, I’m starving for a day” propped up next to her and a confident, angry and intriguing air about her. 

 

“Who’s she?” He asked, pointing her out as Gwilym joined him. 

 

“That’s just Miss Stewart, she’s here a lot. Isn’t necessarily my biggest fan as you can probably see.” Gwilym replied, sitting down to get on with the business of the day. 

 

“She really doesn’t like your policies, does she?” Joe commented as he sat down. Lucy sat down at her desk on the other side of the room, and Kick made her way into her office, where she would be listening in. 

 

A week later, Kick found herself sat in an expensive Westminster restaurant with Gwilym, Ben, and Lucy. Ben had called it ‘team bonding’ but in reality, Kick knew it was just a way for him to get all the gossip from the Foreign Office to pass on to the powers that be. Ben had a remarkable knack for getting anything he wanted out of a Labour MP to pass on to the Prime Minister, Dr Brian May MP. 

 

Ben poured Kick another glass of wine as he leaned in. 

 

“Come on then Kick, pal to pal, what’s the Foreign Secretary actually like?” He whispered as he placed the wine bottle back down. He’d known Kick a long time, and knew she’d have to be spectacularly drunk to tell him anything. 

 

“You’re not getting anything out of me, Benny boy. You’re going to have to work a bit harder than that, mate” Kick replied, trying to listen to whatever terrible joke Lucy was inevitably telling. 

 

“Well, what do you think of him then? Do you fancy him?” Ben asked, still probing his best friend to get  _ something  _ out of her. Kick thought for a few moments, pondering the questions Ben had posed. 

 

“He’s lovely, fantastic at his job. Do I fancy him? Well, there’s still time I suppose”


	2. Chapter 2

_ ROMANCE IN WESTMINSTER: SHAWCROSS AND HARDY RELIGHT OLD FLAME? _

 

_ There are rumours afloat in Westminster after new MP Kathleen Shawcross and Chief Whip Ben Hardy were seen dining together. Miss Shawcross and Mr Hardy were part of Bristol University’s Labour Society during their time there and it is known that Mr Hardy was somewhat of a loose cannon at the time.  _

 

Kick laughed as Ben held the newspaper in front of her face. They’d guessed something would be said about their university days but they hadn’t thought it would come so soon. 

 

“Fuck me, Ben” Kick sighed, still laughing. 

 

“I tried back at uni, Kick. Fancy it now?” Ben replied

 

“No thanks mate, maybe another time?” Kick said as she sat down. 

 

“Queen of the let-down. Don’t be treating Gwilym like that,” He joked, as he sat down opposite her. 

 

“Gw-Gwilym? Why would I be letting Gwilym down? He’s my boss, Ben. Nothing more”

 

“If you say so, Kathleen.”

 

“What? Were you expecting me to jump him at the first opportunity because he’s hot and single?”

 

“Aha! So you do think he’s hot!” The blonde exclaimed. 

 

“I never said he wasn’t,” the brunette replied, sighing deeply for the fourth or fifth time since the conversation began.

 

“Do you  _ like _ him though?” Ben teased, loving the fact that this conversation was complete torture for his friend.

 

“I don’t know him well enough to make a judgement, anyway I thought you came here to do actual work rather than prod me into admitting whether or not I fancy my boss.” Kick replied, getting more and more frustrated by the second. 

 

“Which you do.” Ben quickly added. 

 

“Who I don’t know if I fancy yet or not.”

 

“You do.”

 

“Fuck off, Hardy!”

 

Next door, Gwilym caught snippets of the conversation happening between his junior minister and the party’s Chief Whip. He thought about the young woman sat at a desk infinitely older than her and realised he may be in the same boat. He was intrigued by her. There was something about her that he connected with, and she seemed to ‘get’ him from day one. He wondered if, after some time, he would fall in love with her. There was a distinct possibility, at least. 

 

\----

 

Joe glanced out the window of the foreign office, she was there again. Having climbed the Robert Clive memorial, she sat with the same placard she had with her on his first visit to parliament. 

 

“I see Miss Stewart’s out protesting you again,” he commented to Gwil, sat behind his desk.

 

“When is she not? Which statue is it today?” the Foreign Secretary asked, not looking up from the work he was doing.

 

“That one over there,” Joe said pointing, “not sure which one it is.”

 

“That’ll be Robert Clive, a personal favourite of hers.” Gwil replied, still not looking up. The Ambassador’s interest in Elsie Stewart confused him, she was disruptive and self-righteous but Joe seemed almost enamoured by her.

 

“Does she actually sit out there for the whole 24 hours and not eat?” Joe asked. Gwil looked up, not sure why they were still on the subject of Elsbeth Stewart.

 

“Yes, sometimes longer, depends how much she resents my existence at a given time.” He stands up and walks to the window to stand next to Joe. He had a curious glint in his eye, Gwil for the life of him couldn’t understand why. Elsie was just some journalist, a journalist with communist-anarchist views at that.

 

“Didn’t she write that book,  _ Anarchy For the UK: A Critique of British Political Tradition _ ?” Joe asked, knowing perfectly well the answer to that question. He had read it cover to cover between his second and third visits that had coincided with her demonstrating in the area.

 

“Yes, that would be her. An… interesting read to say the very least.” Gwil said walking back to his desk. 

 

Joe really enjoyed Elsie’s book. Of course, he would never admit that to Gwilym. He felt that the contempt Gwil held for the anarchist would throw a spanner into the workings of both their friendship and workplace relationship, should he admit to really enjoying her book.

 

After finishing at the Foreign Office, Joe took a walk around the surrounding parts of Westminster. Ever since he was young, he’d had an interest in the City of London. He spotted the Robert Clive statue, Elsie still chained to it. He didn’t know why exactly, but he smiled slightly before darting into a shop nearby.   

Elsie yawned before looking at her watch. 18:23, 12 hours and 37 minutes left to go. She looked over the the city streets, the hustle and bustle of rush hour starting to wind down slightly. Her stomach rumbled and she ignored it. Elsie drew her legs up to her chest as the London evening chill blew over her.

 

“Hey,” an American voice grabbed her attention.

 

“Can I help you?” she asked in response. Scottish. He wasn’t expecting her to be Scottish.

 

“Hi, -uhh- I’m Joe. I brought you these,” he presented a coffee and a scarf to her, “It’s getting pretty cold out here and I’ve seen you out here a whi-”

 

“I know who you are,” she cut him off “Staff Sergeant Joseph Francis Mazzello III, US ambassador to the UK, ex-Marine and key donor and campaigner for President Obama. You missed out on being a congressman for New York by a margin of 2%. You’re a womanising, socialite, philanthropist. You have a net worth of approximately 4.5 billion US dollars. I do my research.”

 

Joe was somewhat taken aback by how much she new about him. 

 

“And I don’t need your charity, Mazzello. I’m here to make a point, not for people to pity me,” she continued, “and Starbucks? Really?”

 

“Uhh - you’re right, I’m sorry.” Joe sat down on the steps next to the memorial. He looked around the mostly empty street. Sure, she was making a point during the day, but when there was no one to read her slogans and listen to her yell, would it really make a difference what she did? 

 

Joe wasn’t the type to actively protest social issues. As much as he hated to admit it, his reaction tended to be to just throw money at the problem. There was something about Elsie, she hadn’t just wilted at his natural charm the way most women did, the way Kick had when he first met her. He was used to getting his way, Elsie immediately dismissing him was somewhat refreshing. There was a silent gap between them. Joe sipped on the rejected coffee and looked up at the red haired anarchist who had already begun to ignore him.

 

“I read your book,” Joe blurted out of nowhere.

 

“Oh, you’re still here?” she said in response, not even looking at him. Joe elected to let her comment slide.

 

“I really liked it, you have some really good insight into the failings of capitalism and how the party system eventually leads to no-one getting what they want.” Elsie looked down to him for the first time.

 

“You think so Mazzello?” Elsie raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t expect a mild rejection of capitalism from some Wall Street arsehole”

 

“Well, I-”

 

“In fact, you’re not Wall Street. If I recall correctly, you were born into this. You’re not Wall Street, you’re straight up Easy Street.” Elsie was quite proud of that one. Joe chuckles slightly.

 

“I suppose… I best be going. See you around, Miss Stewart”

 

“Fuck off, Easy Street”

 

“I read your column too, by the way.” he called out as he walked away from the Robert Clive Memorial

 

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Easy Street. Pretending to be my biggest fan won’t get me off the back of the foreign sec.” she replied.

 

“Wait, you think this is about Gwilym Lee?”

 

“When someone who works with him approaches me, it normally is.” Elsie shrugged. Joe nodded to her before continuing to walk away, he was sure they’d cross paths again.

 

\----

 

Kick smoothed her skirt as she walked into 10 Downing Street. She had been invited to a dinner for Foreign Office ministers, hosted by the Prime Minister Brian May and his wife Anita, a world-renowned human rights lawyer. Kick was relieved to find herself sat next to Anita, some female company in a large crowd of men. The group chatted away happily, avoiding the subject of politics for some well-needed rest. Kick and Anita found themselves making polite conversation.

 

“Why is your nickname Kick?” the older woman asked. 

 

“I kicked Ben Hardy, the Chief Whip, in the balls at our university freshers after he tried to get off with a friend of mine who was in a relationship. He’s called me Kick ever since” the younger replied, making Anita burst out laughing. 

 

“You went to university with Ben?” 

 

“Yes, both attended Bristol. I’m the one that got away - only girl in the Labour society he didn’t sleep with” Kick replied, smiling over at Gwilym. He laughed along with everybody else, secretly relieved she and Ben didn’t have that kind of a past together. Ever since he’d heard Kick and Ben talking about him in her office, he’d become fonder and fonder of the young MP. 

 

All the while, Anita watched Gwilym and Kick, and noted how they looked at each other when the other wasn’t looking. She saw the deep affection between them, and wondered whether anything was happening. She didn’t like to get involved, she was only the Prime Minister’s wife after all, but she wouldn’t have been disappointed to see the pair of them together for a very long time. 

 

Kick stepped out of No. 10 and into the freezing cold rain of a London night. As she pulled her coat further around her, she heard footsteps catching up to her, and an umbrella over her head. 

 

“How’re you getting home, Kick?” Gwilym asked as he huddled under the brolly with her. 

 

“I was going to get the tube. Why?”

 

“I’m hailing a cab, my place is on the way to yours so why don’t you carry on after he’s dropped me off? You can claim the fare on parliamentary expenses” Gwilym said, smiling hopefully at her. She nodded and followed him through security and onto Whitehall. They jumped into a cab and laughed at their bedraggled state as they sped off into the London night. 

 

While in the cab, Kick found herself feeling safe and comfortable in Gwil’s presence. The pair made polite conversation, but it was never boring. They reached Gwilym’s house in no time. He lived fairly central so he could pull long nights at the office and be home quickly but both of them wished the journey could have lasted just a little longer. 

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kick” he said quietly, as the cab pulled up outside his front door. 

 

“See you in the morning, Gwilym” she replied, smiling brightly as he shut the door and the cab sped away. As they made their way to Bethnal Green, and Kick’s flat, she thought about Gwilym. She wondered what he’d be thinking as he hung his coat up and put his shoes away, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt. She hoped he’d be thinking of her, because as she hung her coat up and left her shoes at the front door, throwing off her jacket and taking off her tights, she was thinking of him. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the 'Yes, Minister' reference!

_ “There have been reports of more arson attacks in the main refugee camp in Calais. The Foreign Secretary is expected to make a statement, along with the Prime Minister soon”  _ The newsreader on the TV said. Gwilym quickly switched it off and sank back in his chair. The ongoing crisis in the refugee camps on the French coast had been playing heavily on his mind for a while. As Foreign Secretary, it was his job to liaise with his French counterpart, and work out what was going to be done. With the recent spate of arson attacks within the camps, time was quickly running out. He knew he had to do something, and fast, but he didn’t know what. There was a knock at his office door.

 

“Come in.” he called, Ben pokes his head around the door.

 

“Jesus, you look stressed,” he says, chuckling slightly, “seen Red’s new placard?” 

 

“And that is?” Gwil asked,

 

“Elsie Stewart, you dipshit.” Ben retorted. Gwil looked at him, somewhat disgusted. 

 

“Christ, Ben. A nickname?”, Ben shrugged in response.

 

“Y’know you might find out she’s a pretty cool girl if you actually spoke to her.”

 

“I’ve got slightly bigger things on my mind, Ben” Gwilym replied quickly, trying to concentrate on the paperwork in front of him. 

 

“I know, that’s what I’ve come to you to talk about. The Prime Minister needs a response and a plan from the Foreign Office as soon as possible. He’s had the French President on the blower again this morning” Ben said, putting a handful of takeout menus in front of Gwil “Have these, considering you won’t be leaving the building until this is sorted” 

 

Gwil all but threw the menus in a drawer of his desk, before he started pacing around the room. He had no idea what he was meant to do in this situation. He’d never been in it before. He’d never been in a situation as serious as this as a Secretary of State. He soon found himself walking in to Kick’s office. 

 

“What do I do, Kick?” He asked as he sank down into the chair opposite the Junior Minister. 

 

“I don’t know. We can’t use the Rhodesia solution again” Kick replied. 

 

“Well what options do we have?”

 

“The usual six, Minister”

 

“Which are?”

 

“One - do nothing. Two - issue a statement. Three - lodge an official protest. Four - cut off aid. Five - break off diplomatic relations. Six - declare war.” Kick says, sipping her cup of tea. Gwil just stared at her. 

 

“And which one are we going to do? You seem to know what to do, Kick. Help me out”

 

“Well, if we do nothing it implies we agree with what’s happening. If we issue a statement we’ll just look foolish. If we lodge a protest it’ll be ignored. We can’t cut off aid because we’re not giving the french any, and this is technically a row with the French because they came whinging to us about it because we won’t let these refugees into the UK but it’s actually their problem because it’s on french soil.” Kick took a deep breath before she continued “We can’t break off diplomatic relations because we can’t negotiate trade agreements and considering they’re our link to the continent that would be fairly fatal, and if we declare war it’ll look a bit like we’ve overreacted.”

 

“Which means we do what?” Gwil asked again. 

 

“Tell the French President to fuck off?”

 

“Seriously Kick, this is the biggest diplomatic crisis I’ve ever had to deal with and I have absolutely no idea what to do” He almost pleaded. 

 

The next four days were spent in a whirlwind of meetings and chinese takeaways. Lucy was sent to both Gwil and Kick’s houses to get extra clothes and to buy more coffee. Nobody in the Foreign Office slept. Kick and Gwil didn’t leave the building except to go to No. 10 to talk with the Prime Minister. The Secretary of State and his Junior Minister hardly left each other’s sides. An extra desk was brought into Gwilym’s office and Kick set up camp there, her office used for stress-pacing away from everybody else as so not to make them more stressed. 

 

Eventually, after 96 long and arduous hours, they came up with a solution. The solution was sent off to the Prime Minister and implemented. It wasn’t option 6. Kick and Gwilym promptly collapsed. 

 

Gwilym ran over to No. 10 to speak briefly with Prime Minister May, but on his return he found Kick curled up in his desk chair, fast asleep. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her hands were clasped tightly around her sides. Gwilym took off his suit jacket and layed it over her shoulders, before sitting on the floor against his desk. He leant his head back against the hard wood and was asleep in seconds. 

 

Ben walked into Gwilym’s office, and had to bite his tongue to stop himself laughing. Kick, curled up in Gwil’s chair, with the man himself on the floor. Ben silently pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a photo, sending it to Kick. 

 

_ ‘Saw you finally slept with Gwilym x’ _

 

\--

 

Ben walked back to Parliament from the foreign office, he lit a cigarette and began walking his regular route. A familiar voice grabbed his attention.

 

“Hey, Harrow!” Elsie shouted, the nickname poking fun at the fact he was a boarder at Harrow School. She was sat on the curb next to the Winston Churchill statue with a placard that said “REFUGEE CHILDREN BURNING, LEE DOES NOTHING” written on it.

 

“Not climbing the statue today, Red?” Ben called back

 

“Nah, the pigs won’t let me do it anymore. Apparently I’m ‘encouraging vandalism’” she replied doing air quotes. Ben walked over and sat next to her.

 

“Want one?” he asked, taking the pack from his inside jacket pocket. Elsie took one, getting her own lighter out of her coat pocket.

 

“Fuck you, Harrow,” she said, lighting it, “I was trying to quit.” Elsie let out her first breath of smoke and put her lighter back in her pocket. Ben laughed slightly.

 

“You didn’t have to take one you know” he said, tapping some ash off the end of his cigarette

 

“Aye but it’s peer pressure, isn’t it.” she commented, zipping up her jacket and adjusting her beret slightly so it covered her ears a little more.

 

“So you consider me a peer of yours?” Ben joked, leaning back on the podium slightly a smug look on his face.

 

“Shut up, pal.” she started, “you know what I mean.”

 

“So… I’m your pal?” Ben said back, looking even more smug.

 

“I swear to god, Harrow, I will put this out on that bespoke suit.” he laughed slightly in response, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Anything new happening at the foreign office?” she asked

 

“Well,” Ben said, taking his phone from his pocket. “Our most beloved Foreign Secretary-”

 

“That supreme prick, Lee.” Elsie interrupted, taking another drag.

 

“Our most beloved Foreign Secretary and his equally fantastic junior minister-”

 

“Shawcross.” Elsie interrupted again.

 

“Are you going to let me finish, Red?” Ben asked, exasperated as he opened up his photos. Elsie raised her eyebrows and leant over to look at the phone. She saw the photo of Kick and Gwilym asleep in Gwil’s office, and burst out laughing. 

 

“Oh, that’s class. I knew Shawcross was effectively running the Foreign office but at least I have some proof now.” she smirked mischievously.

 

“You’re not allowed to use this against the Foreign Secretary, Red. This stays between us.” Elsie scowled slightly, Ben rolled his eyes playfully.

 

“Harrow…” she pleaded, fully aware of the amount of damage this could do, should it get out with the wrong spin.

 

“I mean it, Stewart. You are not allowed to use it” Ben warned now in a serious tone of voice, he replaced his phone into his pocket and put out his cigarette. 

 

“Okay, fine.” she reluctantly said, “but when they want to go public, you have to let me break the story.” 

 

Ben dropped his cigarette, stubbing it out with his shoe as he made his way back inside the Houses of Parliament. He was queueing for a coffee when a familiar blonde came up behind him. 

 

“Saw you talking to that bloody protester again” she said, sneering slightly, with a hint of playfulness. Ben turned around to see Miss Martha Bexley MP, conservative Member of Parliament for Brentwood and Ongar. The opposition. 

 

“At least I have friends, Bexley” Ben teased back. 

 

“Your friend...a communist?” 

 

“Anarchist, actually. At least I have a position within my party, unlike some people” Ben corrected. 

 

“Have you seen what she said about the new ambassador in her latest column? Some of the allegations she was throwing out, I don’t understand how you can listen to her by choice, or how she gets away with it for that matter.” Martha commented

 

“I haven’t had chance to read it yet, but I imagine it’s as outrageous as always,” Ben replied, “Also she’s actually very interesting to talk to” he added

 

“Right… suit yourself.” Martha said, beginning to walk away from him “Goodbye Hardy, have fun consulting with criminals” Martha called as she made her way to the opposition offices, he smiled as she walked away, there was something about her but he was yet to figure it out. Ben saw a newspaper sitting on one of the cafe tables, open to Elsie’s column. He picked it up and began to read as he walked towards the Government side of the Houses of Parliament.  **_Joe Mazzello: The Boy-Billionaire of New York_ ** , the title read. It made Ben chuckle slightly.

 

_ Following the retirement of Louis Susman last summer, it was the turn of boy-billionaire Joe Mazzello, or to give him his full title Staff Sergeant Joseph Francis Mazzello III, to take the position of American Ambassador to the UK. Being “unprecedentedly young” is often a quality I endorse in political figures, however we must take into account that with youth does come lack of experience. Before now, Mazzello has held no office; diplomatic or political. He is a 30-something with a business degree and more money than he knows what to do with…   _

 

“Not even a paragraph in and already two solid insults.” Ben said to himself, Elsie had exceeded herself. He continued skim reading until he made it back to his office. He sat down, leaning back and swinging his feet up onto his desk.

 

_ …A young, rich, socialite with a fantasy of being a hotshot politician; donates a sizeable amount of money to a presidential campaign and when that campaign succeeds, the position of ambassador to a major allied nation is handed over on a silver platter. It just doesn’t sit right. _

 

They were quite a grandiose set of accusations, admittedly not too dissimilar from her normal works. But something felt different this time, more personal and less fact-based. Ben wondered if she’d had an encounter with Joe, who’d seemed to him enthusiastic and mild-mannered, and put her spin on it as she was want to do. It was Elsie Stewart after all.


	4. Chapter 4

_“Refugees are moving across our continent on a scale we have not seen since the second world war, with a third of a million trying to cross the Mediterranean this year, many ready to pay their life savings to criminal gangs who board them on to overcrowded boats and then leave them to drown. Fifty-two people were found dead in the hull of a boat. They had been forced into an airless hold, forced to pay to come up to breathe, and those who could not pay suffocated to death. The pictures of Alan Kurdi have moved a continent—the image of a three-year-old on a beach, a picture that should have been full of life and joy and instead was a tragedy.”_ (from Yvette Cooper’s speech of 8th September 2015)

 

Gwilym watched in awe as Kick passionately argued with a member of the opposition. He didn’t know what to think. 

 

He’d thought she was incredible since he’d met her; now, with this speech, she proved him right. 

 

He’d thought she was beautiful since the dinner at No. 10. The dress she was wearing, standing up and arguing her point, was a knockout. 

 

But now, now he thought he might be falling in love with her. Her compassion, her intelligence, her beauty, they all made him fall for her more. 

 

In fact, he knew he was in love with her. 

 

He was, to paraphrase Jane Austen, in the middle before he knew he had begun. 

 

All Gwilym knew, in that moment, was that he needed to be with her. 

 

Gwilym practically ran out of the House of Commons after Kick at the end of the day’s sitting. He caught up with her, and found himself tongue-tied. 

 

“Hello Gwilym” Kick said as they walked through Central Lobby towards the House’s coffee shop. 

 

“H-hi Kick. Look, um, you were fantastic in there….really phenomenal” He said nervously, quickly buying a coffee for him and Kick. 

 

“Thank you, though I’m guessing there’s an ulterior motive to buying me a coffee?” 

 

“Well, um, would you like to go to dinner with me? As- as a date?” Gwilym asked, quietly. He was sure she’d say no. 

 

“I’d love to” Kick replied as they exited the Houses of Parliament and jumped into a cab. Gwilym smiled down into his coffee for a moment. 

 

“Shall we call this our first date, Gwilym? Pick me up at 7 tomorrow for the second?” Kick asked. Gwilym smiled at her. 

 

“See you then” He said as he kissed her cheek, and jumped out of the cab. 

 

\--

Joe sat at his desk re-reading Elsie’s column. Even though she had written a whole piece tearing him and his family to shreds, he couldn’t help but be charmed by her. She knew he’d read this. She must have wanted him to see it, she knew he’d read her column after all. Maybe she wanted his attention, maybe she liked his attention and maybe she hadn’t realised that yet. Logging in his computer, he opened up Twitter and typed a name into the search bar. He lingered slightly before pressing enter on the keyboard. He read the most recent tweet to himself.

 

**@elsie_stew**

_ Honoured and excited to be speaking at @univofstandrews tomorrow afternoon, open to the public as well as students! More details on the SU website, see you there!  _

 

St Andrews. That’s west Scotland. Joe checked the calendar on his phone, he had a free day tomorrow, he could make it. He just wanted to talk face to face, not through Twitter, not through a series of op-eds and public statements; but in person, preferably when she wasn’t chained to a statue of some sort.

 

“Natalie!” Joe called his assistant into his office, “Could you book me a flight to Edinburgh for tomorrow morning?”

 

“Of course, Ambassador Mazzello.” she responded, “Can I ask why? - for the accounts” Joe smiled slightly at her curiosity.

 

“It’s… a personal visit,” he said, not really sure how to define a flight needed to surprise the woman who’d been slamming him in the press, as of late, at a lecture she was giving at a university. Natalie raised an eyebrow, slightly confused, before nodding and walking back to her desk. Joe then turned back to his computer and liked the tweet, thinking this might give Elsie some prior warning for his appearance.

 

Joe sat back in his chair for a moment and replied to a few emails before taking a some time to look out the window at the London skyline. There was an abrupt knock on his door.

 

“Come in!” he called, Natalie poked her head around the door.

 

“It’s Minister Lee for you, sir.” she started, “he says it’s an urgent.” Joe stood up, slightly panicked. What could it possibly be?

 

“Of course, please send him in.” he responded. A flustered Gwilym rushed into his office, not really making eye contact with him.

 

“Gwil, what is it? What’s the emergency?” Joe said walking towards him.

 

“Uhhh - I asked Kick out. Kind of on a whim.” Gwil rambled out, “But she said yes, and now I realise have literally no plans. So I thought ‘who’s got the best reputation with charming women?’ and now I’m here.”

 

“I’m flattered, Gwil, I really am.” Joe chuckled in response.

 

“Joe, I really need your help.” Gwilym pleaded.

 

“Easy.” Joe started, “drinks, dinner, dessert with two spoons. Then of course you make sure she gets home safe.” The panicked expression left Gwil’s face.

 

“That’s actually great.” Gwil said, Joe nodded knowingly in response, “But where do I take her? I really need this to be special.”

 

“I could get you a reservation at the Criterion, Marco Pierre White’s a friend of the family.”

 

“Oh my god, Joe! That would actually be incredible” he knew it was maybe a little much for a first date, but he really wanted it to be special.

 

“Anything to help a friend.” Joe said smiling.

 

\---

 

Gwilym jumped out of the cab and asked the driver to hold it. He walked up to Kick’s front door and knocked, nervously straightening his jacket as he waited. She opened the door, and metaphorically knocked him off his feet. The silver and gold dress trailed behind her as Gwilym helped her down the steps from her front door and into the cab, the beading overlay sitting perfectly on her chest. Gwilym could hardly speak. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. 

 

Kick couldn’t keep her eyes off Gwil for the whole drive to the restaurant. She didn’t know where they were going, but she hoped she wasn’t overdressed. Guessing by Gwilym’s three piece suit, she wasn’t. 

 

The cab pulled up outside the Criterion restaurant in central London. Gwilym hopped out, and almost ran around the cab to open Kick’s door. He paid the driver and offered Kick his arm. She took it, and they walked in together, praying that no photographers were around. 

 

“This is very fancy, Gwilym. How did you get a reservation at such short notice?” Kick asked as they were seated in the corner. 

 

“I...have my ways” Gwilym replied, perusing the menu and wincing slightly at the prices. It was worth it though. Kick would  _ always  _ be worth it. 

 

Kick looked up at Gwilym as their spoons clashed. They shared a white chocolate and marron glace mousse as a dessert, just as Joe suggested, and it seemed to be working a treat. Every time Kick looked up at him through her eyelashes, Gwilym swore his heart would beat out of his chest. 

 

The air was chilly as they left the restaurant, and Gwilym draped his suit jacket around Kick’s shoulders. They hailed a cab and made their way out of central London.

 

“Come to mine for a nightcap?” Gwilym asked, looking over at his date. 

 

“I’d love to” Kick replied, resting her head on his shoulder. 

 

20 minutes later, Kick found herself sat on Gwilym’s sofa, feet tucked underneath her, with a cup of tea in her hands. Gwilym sat down beside her. 

 

“Thanks for dinner, Gwilym” Kick whispered. It all felt a lot more real once they were back at Gwilym’s house. 

 

“It was my pleasure, Kick” He replied, laying an arm gently over her shoulders, sipping his tea. 

 

“That was one of the nicest things anybody’s ever done for me” Kick said, placing her mug down on the coffee table. 

 

“You deserve to be treated” Gwilym replied, doing the same and looking into her eyes. Kick placed her hand on Gwilym’s thigh as an invitation, and he crashed his lips to hers. 

 

\--

 

The following morning, Joe stepped out of his front door and stepped into the car waiting for him out front. 

 

“Where to, Ambassador Mazzello?” the chauffeur asked, smiling at him politely.

 

“London City airport, please.” Joe said, returning the smile, before going to check his phone.

 

“Going anywhere nice, Ambassador?”

 

“Just visiting a friend in Scotland.”  _ Friend _ . Was Elsie a friend? Well, no. But he couldn’t exactly tell his chauffeur that he was paying an unannounced visit to a woman who doesn’t like him but he felt drawn to in an unexplained way. That would make it sound like he intended to kill her.

 

He arrived at the airport and boarded his flight. It was a reasonably uneventful flight, he had at one point gotten talking to an older gentleman who recognised him. Putting his copy of the Financial Times down for a moment, the man had asked what was bringing Joe to Edinburgh. He gave the same response. That he was visiting a friend. The term friend certainly wasn’t the correct term for Elsie Stewart, but then neither was enemy. He’d work out what to call her eventually, for now ‘friend’ raised the least suspicions in from any angle.

 

On the car ride from Edinburgh to St Andrews, Joe found himself browsing bars and restaurants in the area. He could take her for a drink, just to talk… it wasn’t like he had an ulterior motive. Thanking the driver, he stepped out of the car. He took in the scenic campus for a moment before walking to the lecture theatre Elsie was speaking at, it was due to start reasonably soon.

 

Trying to keep a low profile, Joe took a seat towards the back of the theatre amongst the students and members of the public also in attendance. Elsie walked to the lectern and began to speak. Public speaking was something she had always excelled in, even in primary school. She was passionate and articulate, and Joe could see that. He might not have agreed with what she was saying but he found himself almost persuaded, just for a moment. About an hour passed with Elsie discussing political theory and social issues, in her peppy and yet occasionally sarcastic tone, Joe sometimes getting a little distracted by her accent and the way it wrapped around the words leaving her mouth.

 

“Any questions?” she said to the lecture theatre, scanning the faces that stared back, some with raised hands. She selected a student in the third row as he asked his question.

 

“What advice would you give for discussing politics with people who don’t agree with you?” the young man asked, Elsie continued scanning the room. Her eyes met Joe’s, he gave her a coy wave and she subtly raised an eyebrow in response.

 

“Great question,” she began to respond to to student, “When you cross paths with a person who opposes you it’s important you keep a level head, they’re certainly not going to take in anything you’re saying if they see you as a member of the ‘hysterical, intolerant left’. Also don’t be afraid to acknowledge the negatives in political systems you support, no political system is perfect after all.”

 

Elsie continued to answer questions for another 20 minutes before being urged to wrap things up by one of the political sciences professors. As the audience were filling out, Joe walked down the stairs to where Elsie was packing her notes back into her bag.

 

“Can I help you, Easy Street?” she didn’t even look up from her bag, Joe smiled slightly at the nickname.

 

“Nothing specifically, just thought I’d let you know how much I enjoyed your most recent piece.” he stepped closer towards her as she put her coat on. Elsie raised her eyebrows at him, slightly urging him to continue his point before starting to walk up the lecture theatre stairs to the door.

 

“I particularly enjoyed the way you implied that i bought my way to my position,” he started, following her up the stairs and out of the lecture theatre, “and said, and I quote ‘Staff Sergeant Mazzello and, by extension, the entire Mazzello family, unashamedly and grossly benefit from the very systemic injustices that they claim to oppose’... I’ve gotta to say Miss Stewart, you’ve really outdone yourself”

 

Elsie stopped walking and turned to face him, smirking slightly, “And you’ve committed it to memory? Easy Street, I’m impressed.”

 

“Well I do try.” he said with an air of cockiness. Elsie laughed a little, somewhat surprised that he was still attempting to charm her.

 

“Now, if you excuse me,” she said looking at her watch, “I have a train to catch.” she began to walk away but a warm hand grabbed her wrist, she turned to face Joe, she wasn’t going to shake him that easily. Not today.

 

“Are you going via Edinburgh? I’ve got a car waiting if you want a ride, maybe we could get a drink.” 

 

Elsie rolled her eyes, was he really going to do the whole prince charming act? She thought for a moment… a drink did sound good, and she couldn’t pretend that she didn’t have questions for the ambassador.

 

“Alright then, just one drink.” Joe was taken aback slightly, thinking he might have had to try a little harder to convince her.


End file.
